


Breathing Room

by bluemooning



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Biting, Breathplay, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, crop tops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 14:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8375416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluemooning/pseuds/bluemooning
Summary: “You don’t like it?”
“That wasn’t my question,” said Iwaizumi, his attention fully rerouted from the Godzilla rerun on TV. While the tinny sound of screaming civilians blared from the ten year old television set, all he could do was stare and stare at his boyfriend. “Oikawa, what the fuck is that,”
“A crop top, Iwa-chan,”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nokutos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokutos/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY FESA i hope you have a not-smelly day, to make up for the other 364 days :]

For as long as Iwaizumi could remember, Oikawa had always been there, in some way, shape, or form. They had played together as children, through the humid summers - they had gone through elementary and middle school, neither of them ever very far from the other. High school had been more of the same, and yet completely different - it provided answers beyond the classroom, found in small moments, and nights where the moon hung languid over their intertwined bodies. And maybe if they hadn’t let go, their kisses could have lasted forever.

But, as of five seconds ago, Iwaizumi was beginning to question how much longer he wanted ‘forever’ to be.

“Oikawa,” He said, with a croaking voice, “What the fuck are you wearing,”

Oikawa spun around once, twice, his presence larger than life in their studio apartment. When he walked over to Iwaizumi, he almost tripped over a stack of university textbooks - but he caught himself just in time. He winked and batted his eyes more, posing for an imaginary camera. “You don’t like it?”

“That wasn’t my question,” said Iwaizumi, his attention fully rerouted from the Godzilla rerun on TV. While the tinny sound of screaming civilians blared from the ten year old television set, all he could do was stare and stare at his boyfriend. “Oikawa, what the fuck  _ is _ that,”

“A crop top, Iwa-chan,”

The hemline of the shirt hit just above Oikawa’s waist - it fit snugly around his torso, but not too tightly. It - the  _ thing _ \- was a bright blue-green, just as garish as it’s wearer. The neckline went wide, nearly exposing his shoulders, but not quite. Instead, Oikawa’s collarbones jutted out, as petulant as anything and sharp enough to cut yourself upon. 

His stomach, lean and toned, was stunningly illuminated by the late afternoon light. It streamed through the windows in soft waves, and seemed to wash over Oikawa like golden paint. He tossed his hair back and holy shit, this was even worse than when he was naked - at least then he was exposed, vulnerable, his deepest identity bared to its purest form.

But this was something else entirely. This was teasing at it's worst.

“I know what a crop top is,” Iwaizumi said through gritted teeth, “But what the hell is it doing on you?”

Oikawa shrugged. “I bought it from the store and brought it home. And now I’m trying it on, and I want to know what you think of it,” His voice dripped with honey when he spoke, and when he slid his hands along the curve of his hips, it was with the most malicious of intentions. Iwaizumi was sure of it.

“What I think,” He said hoarsely.

Oikawa nodded earnestly. He pushed his abdomen forward, the skin stretched tight over his slender frame - the dips of his body just begging to be touched. “Well?”

“I think,” Iwaizumi said slowly, “you already know the answer,”

“Do I?” Oikawa pouted with all of his bottom lip. “But you haven’t actually been saying anything,” He furrowed his brow and it was startling, how good his impression of Iwaizumi was. “What the fuck! Shittykawa! Read my mind!”

“Shut up,” Iwaizumi growled, and turned his attention back to the television. But it had just cut to commercials, and he could swear Oikawa was grinning behind him.

“Make me,”

As an advertisement for male enhancement pills started to play, Iwaizumi turned back around to face Oikawa. He let his gaze travel up and down Oikawa’s body - his crop top clad body - and he didn’t try to hide it for a second.

“Oh my, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa purred into the air between them, “Just undress me with your eyes, why don’t you,”

That made something spark in Iwaizumi. He threw the remote to the side, and got to his feet in one quick motion. “Bed. Now,”

For all his teasing and headstrong determination, Oikawa was surprisingly eager to follow this order. He sauntered on over to their bed, pushed into the corner for maximum spatial efficiency. And somehow, their apartment was still always a mess. 

“On your back,” Iwaizumi told Oikawa, who laid down on the bed with ease. He grinned more and toyed with the hem of his shirt - no, that thing barely counted as a shirt, it barely existed in the first place, it revealed too much and not enough at the same time. It made Iwaizumi’s imagination run wild, until it had no hope of returning to civilization.

But societal standards be damned, he let his body act of its own accord. And it had plenty it wanted to do, starting with his hands. They were upon Oikawa in an instant, all over his trembling body - branding him with calloused fingertips. 

“Iwa - “ Oikawa gasped out, and found himself unable to complete that thought. “You - “

“You’re terrible,” Iwaizumi hissed, cutting Oikawa off. “Look at you,” 

He pushed the crop top up shamelessly, revealing Oikawa’s slender chest. Muscle rippled beneath his pale skin and it just wasn’t fair, it really wasn’t fair, not at all - but this equalized it, a little. It was just enough.

And maybe it could be a little more than that, thought Iwaizumi, as he took in the sight of his boyfriend - his chest heaving, ribcage visible, nipples peaking, already pink all over and breathing hard. When he caught Iwaizumi staring, he winked and smiled languidly. He poked out the tip of his tongue and licked the edges of his lips, making them slick and shiny. 

“Me?” Oikawa said innocently, as innocent as anything, with that crop top pushed up to his collarbone, and the bulge of his cock vividly obvious. “Little old me?”

“...terrible,” Iwaizumi said again, and then he was back upon Oikawa, his fumbling hands pulling more at the crop top. 

Oikawa laughed openly. “Need help, Iwa-chan?”

“No,” said Iwaizumi, and a spark lit inside him.

He fell upon Oikawa fast, and faster, until his fingers were tripping over each other and skittering as if they were possessed. And they really were. But Iwaizumi couldn’t imagine it any other way.

His urgency was truly commendable, in how he didn’t waste a single moment. Each passing second was devoted to nothing more than Oikawa, Oikawa Tooru,  _ Tooru _ , and the name on his lips felt even better when it was the last breath he took, before he sank his teeth deep into the soft skin of Oikawa’s neck.

Oikawa cried out sharply. The hands at the ends of his flailing arms formed claws, digging deep into the bed. He held on tight and no one saw his eyes squeeze shut. No one watched as he threw his head back, vocalizing honey-sweet incoherence. The smell and taste of Oikawa’s blood filled the air around them like heady cologne.

Iwaizumi finally drew back, his lips and teeth stained crimson. He licked at them slowly. “Apply pressure to wounds,” he said.

“W-what?”

“They always taught us,” said Iwaizumi, breathing hard, “To press down on wounds,”

And he was surely still arrested, and thoroughly so. Nothing else could have explained how his hands moved of their own accord - how his fingers wrapped around Oikawa’s slender neck and tested the corded muscles beneath their hold. Little by little, Iwaizumi’s nails dug into the skin, and his fingertips became stained with blood. His skin was so flushed, it was hard to notice any difference. 

His biceps twitched when he further tested the limits. And for a blinding moment, they didn’t exist. In a flash quicker than lightning, something had struck Iwaizumi. He bore down harder on Oikawa, his fingers twisting, and pressing harder. His rising malice threatened to destroy them both.

And Oikawa’s gasps were turning guttural, barely audible, sounds like pleading but not quite. His eyes were watering over - they had been, for some time. It left salty streaks on his face that were washed with fresh tears, over and over again. 

The glistening droplets caught Iwaizumi’s gaze almost too quickly. He relaxed his fingertips, until his entire body had slackened. Though his hands still lingered on Oikawa’s neck, their touch had gone sublime. Maybe they could fall in love like this.

“Oikawa,” he said, and studied his boyfriend closer. There was little else to focus on, in this moment. All Iwaizumi could handle was sight, and touch, especially with his growing arousal becoming more and more pertinent. His rushing blood pumped hard in his ears and made everything else feel muted.

But despite it all, a line from an old children’s book, the title of which he could hardly remember - and yet it was coming to mind now, of all times - a quote from this story was beginning to repeat itself in his mind. 

“What is essential, is invisible to the eye,”

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa raised an eyebrow. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing,” said Iwaizumi, and let the pads of his fingers begin pressing again, with just enough strength to wring a gasp out of Oikawa. 

It wasn’t enough. “Tell me,” Oikawa said, as his eyes went wide and his movements became jerky. His voice had morphed into a breathy imitation, hardly anything to be taken seriously. 

And just like that, it didn’t matter. It was a distraction from the issue at hand, the man beneath his hands. He pressed his body up against hot skin, against crop top material - either one was fine. Because they could be dressed to the nines, on a cruise ship, or buck naked in a broom closet, or anything in between - and it wouldn’t matter.

This singular feeling of Oikawa at his mercy, it was beyond essential. 

“Fuck,” he hissed between clenched teeth and an awareness of the rising heat in his groin. It took over his body in pinpricks, innocuous at first. But then, he was all shaky warmth from head to toe. And somehow, in the foggy haze of his mind, he could still make out a new sensation; the feeling of Oikawa’s hands, lingering near their flush hips. They jittered and almost didn’t make it - but when they reached their mark, easing Iwaizumi’s swollen erection out into the air, with long fingers tight around its length - it had him seeing white. 

For a long moment, he felt nothing but a blinding consciousness. The palm wrapped around his cock was just as brutal as his own hands, the fingers making as if to interlock. It felt like a transfer of strength. And now, it was Iwaizumi’s turn to have his breath taken away.

“God,” he gasped, and his power came in cycles. His hands twisted around Oikawa’s neck in a parody of a caress. But, it did almost feel like the real thing. It was sweet and gentle and gave Oikawa time to put himself together - and just before the last piece was in place, Iwaizumi would squeeze with full force. His timing nearly perfectly aligned with Oikawa’s movements, so really, it wasn’t  _ all  _ his fault. They were both pushing each other, bringing the other to the brink. There really was no other way for them to operate.

He tightened up in Oikawa’s hold, trembling all over. He shuddered in his bones and his hands, full of concentrated power, choked Oikawa harder. They would destroy each other, working together like this. If they held on to each other like this, for eternity, there wouldn’t be anything left of them, in the end. But maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. And when Iwaizumi finally came, with a ragged, incoherent noise, even forever wouldn’t have been enough for him. 

Then, Oikawa coughed once, and the world became reality again. 

Iwaizumi completely loosened his grip in an instant, leaving Oikawa free to cough openly. Panic played across his face as he took big ragged breaths, loud and desperate. He traced his fingers over his neck and winced at the bruising skin. His spasming hands made their way to his crotch, struggling to unbutton his fly.

“Iwa-chan,” he said, and coughed again. His face still glimmered with wetness, making the dusk-painted light seem softer. And in the same vein, Iwaizumi’s gentle touch brought comfort to both of them. It was quiet between them while Iwaizumi silently stroked Oikawa’s stiffening cock. There was no teasing in his actions, no denial - he worked effectively, giving Oikawa exactly what he wanted. 

And when Oikawa collapsed into himself, with a high sigh and warm liquid pooling on his belly, the silence settled heavy around them. There was no other sound besides the television, playing the Godzilla ending credits. For a long moment, neither of them stirred. 

Oikawa was the first to break the peace. “Amazing,” he said, while wiping his cum-covered hands on the bed sheets. He put himself together in stages, starting with his clothing. He pulled his shirt back down as much as possible, and when he stretched his arched back, his bare belly glowed in the evening light. His slow smile radiated contentment. It was magnetic, and Iwaizumi fell down flat beside him. He took slow breaths in and out, taking in the moment.

His heavy eyelids nearly shut for good. But then there was a prodding at his side, and when he glanced over, Oikawa was holding up a piece of cloth. It was little more than a scrap.

“I also got this for you,” he said, grinning widely. Iwaizumi slowly sat up, and took it from Oikawa. He held it out in front of himself. His gaze sharpened with time.

“This is,” Iwaizumi said flatly, “a crop top,”

“It is!” said Oikawa, and winked. “Now we can match!”

With a strength renewed, Iwaizumi headbutted him.


End file.
